Before I Sleep
by LaurieQ
Summary: A nice little autumn drive, Joe, Frank, some assorted dead folks... This story was originally written for a Halloween contest in 2009 and like my other HB tales now needs a new home. It is also the start of a series of interconnected stories, although it also stands alone.
1. Chapter 1

_Title of Story:_ Before I Sleep

 _Type of Story:_ Story Contest, SN

 _Characters in Story:_ F, J

 _Warnings:_ mild to moderate gore

 _Date Story Originally Posted:_ October, 2009

 _Special Notes:_ The poem in the first and last chapter inspired this tale, but alas it isn't mine. It's _Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening_ , by Robert Frost.

 **CHAPTER 1**

 **Whose woods these are I think I know.  
His house is in the village though;  
He will not see me stopping here  
To watch his woods fill up with snow.**

 **My little horse must think it queer  
To stop without a farmhouse near  
Between the woods and frozen lake  
The darkest evening of the year.**

 **He gives his harness bells a shake  
To ask if there is some mistake.  
The only other sound's the sweep  
Of easy wind and downy flake.**

 **The woods are lovely, dark and deep.  
But I have promises to keep,  
And miles to go before I sleep,  
And miles to go before I sleep**

 _Whoa..._ Frank nudged the wheel of the car to the left, resisting the urge to yank it as hard as he could. The van again obediently hugged the asphalt, the moment's hydroplane over. He sighed and raked a hand through the front of his hair, wishing it wasn't another three hours home. Maybe even four or five in this rain. He'd finished his errand in Lake Placid by late afternoon and was driving back to Bayport, trying to convince himself he didn't mind the slanted rain. Maybe the downpour wasn't all that bad, but the empty passenger seat he could do without. Not that he was likely to mention that to Joe. His year younger brother inevitably fidgeted, squirmed, crunched, spewed crumbs, joked, blasted the radio, sang and generally whined his way through any long drive, and Frank took every opportunity to claim it made him nuts. Driving the round trip in one day by himself, though, was making Joe's antics downright appealing.

Fenton Hardy, their private detective father, had just completed a smuggling case that seemed to involve half of the state of New York. Unfortunately, a solved case inevitably led to a mountain of paperwork, and Fenton had decided his sons were old enough to begin helping with that end of mystery solving too. So early this morning, Frank had been dispatched to Lake Placid and Joe to Clayton, each charged with the incredibly exciting task of collecting signed affidavits at the respective courthouses and bringing them back to Bayport. Frank idly wondered when the legal system would enter the twenty first century and accept faxed documents. The twentieth century would be an improvement, as far as that goes.

Admitting the waterlogged road was beginning to mesmerize him, Frank declared it was time for a break. Nothing about the small diner he pulled into forty minutes later seemed all that remarkable, but at least it was dry and the food smelled decent. Ordering a roast beef sandwich, potato wedges, and a slice of pumpkin pie, and getting a smile from the twenty something waitress that offered a great deal more, he slouched into a corner booth. She was smirking at him from the counter, a kaleidoscope of garish colors painted across her overdone face. There had to be a way to make his six foot one inch frame inconspicuous, but he wasn't having much success finding it.

The stoneware plate clanked on the Formica table in front of him, drawing his attention back from folding himself into a ball. "You need anything else, hun?"

"Ah, no this is fine. It looks good, thanks." Frank dropped his eyes to his plate, ignoring the quick wink sent his way.

"Oh, I'd have to say everything in here looks real good, sweetie. Enjoy your dinner." She leaned over to plant a palm on the table, wriggling her too tight uniform back into his line of sight. The brush against his shoulder could have been accidental, depending on how much denial you could really muster on short notice. "I'll be back real soon with that pie."

Frank fought his way through a very dry swallow. "Good. Yeah. Pie. That'll be, um, great." The warmth in his cheeks rivaled the food. He was halfway through the roast beef when he risked another breath. _Perfume cloud's dissipating a bit...What on earth was that about? Crud... Joe. I was supposed to call Joe..._

Joe groped blindly through assorted candy wrappers and smashed soda cans, certain his cell phone was in there somewhere. Couldn't be ringing otherwise, right? There!

"Hello?"

"You answered!"

"Well, uh yeah, Frank, that's the general idea. When the little rectangular box rings, you push the green button on it and say hello. Get this one down pat and we'll cover TV remotes tomorrow."

"Very funny, Joe. You've only had your driver's license three months now. You're not supposed to talk on the phone while you're on the road, you know that."

"Hey! You called me." Joe tried not to sound exasperated. "And you'd be fussing that I worried you if I didn't answer. Besides, you're on the road too, genius."

"Actually, I'm not. I'm, ah, eating dinner."

"You ok? You sound weird. Not that you aren't usually weird - truth in advertising, I guess."

"Whatever. I'm fine. Have you eaten yet?" Frank shifted his arm away from the ring laden hand loitering there under the pretense of refilling his soda.

"No, and I'm getting hungry now that you mention it. There's an exit coming up; give me ten minutes and I'll call you back."

"If I can last here that long..." Frank's comment came out under his breath, but Joe caught it anyway.

"What's that?"

"Never mind. The waitress is a little, ah, affectionate." His discomfort with the unsolicited attention was obvious.

Joe's barked laugh came through the phone loud and clear. "Hey, if I'm cramping your flirting, bro, I'll just see you at home. Wouldn't want to interrupt you and your new friend."

"Don't you dare! Ten minutes, Joe, and this phone better ring!"

"Yeah, yeah... Just make sure she doesn't bite... much..."

"Joe! I am not kidding..."

"Ok, ten minutes, geeze..."

"Hello?"

"Frank?"

"You're two minutes late, Joe."

"Yeah, well, McDonald's or Arby's was a big decision. I needed a minute to contemplate." Joe chuckled. "You still eating?"

"Just finished. Let me pay the bill and go back out to the van." Frank made his way to the cash register, grateful to see the swarthy cook standing behind the counter.

"Change is four eighty five. Have a nice night." The gruff mountain of a man scrunched his forehead, but the warning came too late.

"Night could get much better than just nice, sugar." The waitress suddenly appeared behind the wary youth.

Whatever snickered retort Joe might have offered to the overheard proposition was overwhelmed by a sharp yelp from Frank.

"Frank?... Frank?... You ok? Frank?" The slam of the van door through the telephone reassured Joe somewhat. "Frank?"

"She... she... she pinched me!"

Choked chortles claimed the next several minutes, the transmitted sounds of Joe laughing until he cried slowing leading his sibling out of indignant splutters into the humor of the situation. Finally Frank managed a laugh, too.

"So, if I beat you home should I tell Callie to worry?"

"Um, no, definitely not. I doubt you'll beat me home, though. Where are you, anyway?"

"Arby's."

"Thanks Joe, that clears it right up. I meant what town."

"Right outside of Pulaski. I've been looking at the map and I think I can cut across and go through Remsen, then hit I-90 again at Saint Johnsville. Should cut a good bit off the trip."

"Nu- uh. No way, Joe. Dad was adamant about that, no leaving the interstate. Take I-81 south to Syracuse and then hit 90 east."

"Dad didn't know the courthouse buffoons would take an extra hour to find all the paperwork or that it was going to pucker up and snow. This way will get me home faster." Joe found this rationale to be perfectly reasonable.

"Fine. Call him and ask, then."

"I don't see any need to go that far... Besides, Mom and Dad won't be home until morning."

Frank shook his head, aware his brother couldn't see it. "In other words, you know he'll say no."

"Not if I don't ask."

"Impeccable logic, as always. I'm not backing you up on this one once we're home. And it's not going to snow."

Joe squinted at the grey weight of the sky. "Looks like snow to me. Besides, you're the one up in Lake Placid with the Olympic ski runs and the amorous snow bunny. You didn't see even a little snow?"

"Trust me, she did not look anything remotely like a snow bunny, and there definitely wasn't any snow in Lake Placid. It's still 45 degrees, Joe, you miss class the day they covered freezing points? I doubt it'll even cool down enough to get slick in the middle of the night. Stay on the interstate."

"I think it's a lot colder than that, Frank, and I will be on the interstate. As soon as I hit I-90 at Saint Johnsville."

"Joe-"

"What was that?!"

Joe stomped the brake, convinced he was about to obliterate an unsuspecting raccoon, or maybe a small dog. Whatever it was, he nailed it. He brought the car to a halt, not particularly eager to view mincemeat, but needing to see if the creature was beyond help.

He exited his mother's sedan, peeping at the flattened mass under the left rear wheel. His heel slid on the pavement, requiring a hasty grab at the side view mirror. _Knew it was colder than 45._ The bad news was that the lump under the tire was torn in half. The good news was that it was the remnants of a large red rubber ball.

Joe scanned the trees on both sides of the road, but no children were visible in the dimming light. He could hear his father's driving lecture in his head - always beware of a ball rolling into the road as it is almost always followed by a sprinting child. Not at this hour, surely.

He thought he heard a smothered giggle, but a closer look didn't reveal a thing. There was a gurgle of noise, but that was expected. He'd come to a stop on a small stone bridge. This was either the second or third one he had crossed, all single lane affairs spanning the same meandering stream a few feet below. Shaking his head, Joe got back in the car and crept out onto the asphalt.

Ten minutes later, a wave of déjà vu swept over him even as he squealed to a stop, the car spinning around in more than a complete circle on the icy lane. _No, it's only déjà vu if didn't actually happen before._ .. _Ok, new law of physics... the deceleration of the car's speed is inversely proportional to the acceleration of the driver's heart rate..._

"What is it with the toys?" Joe climbed back out of the car, looking at the carved wheeled horse he'd managed to miss this time. "Great, now I'm talking to myself. Maybe I'm being bombarded by Santa's elves. Anyone there?"

He slowly gazed in every direction, again seeing nothing. No child answered his call, or emerged from the forest. The trees formed a tight canopy over the winding country road, slivers of faint light forcing their way through. The creek burbled at the roadside, the moss-slicked tips of protruding rocks just beginning to have a dusting of snow. Joe leaned against the driver's door, hoping another car would pass. He suddenly realized how long it had been since he'd seen one. Sure the weather wasn't wonderful, but it wasn't that late and it was Friday. Seemed like somebody else would be out.

"Ok, Hardy, quit giving yourself the willies. It's a rural road at night, that's all. I ought to be glad there isn't another vehicle around since I'm sideways across both lanes." Joe slid into the driver's seat, glad the car was still warm. Restarting the engine, he stared up and down the road.

 _I came from there... No, maybe that way... Why can't I tell?... What the heck is going on, I never get lost..._ Joe tipped his head to the sky, but the flurry laden clouds blocked any attempt to gauge direction. _How come Frank got the van with the GPS?... I am so not telling him I got turned around when I get back home... pretty sure it's this way..._

It wasn't even five minutes this time. A wooden scooter darted in front of the deep green sedan, Joe's eyes widening at the rapid streak. _Was there a kid on there? God, I hit it. Tell me there wasn't a kid?_

The brakes couldn't stop him this time, the skid of the car slamming it into the stunted sidewall of the bridge and then propelling it over, the sickening crunch of tearing automobile and scattering stones giving way to the cocooned music of the night forest. The stream trickled around its interspersed rocks, the finer tree branches gently clicked in the wind, an animal gave a soft snort in the distance. From the jagged twist of cooling metal and the boy within, there was nothing at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

"Uunnggggghhh."

"Ugghhh... Quit it."

Joe listened intently, aggravated with whoever kept poking him on the shoulder, but they didn't answer. He didn't want to get out of bed and they were thumping way too hard. He might even have to open his eyes and do something about it. Later though. Much , much later.

Come to think about it, a lot more than his shoulder hurt, and his bed was listing starboard. Something wasn't quite right.

Joe pried his eyes open, convinced he could hear the eyelashes rip apart. His headache increased tenfold as soon as the minimal starlight invaded wide pupils, and he squeezed them closed again, slowly figuring out what happened. No one was tapping his shoulder, a cloth strap bound him there. _Strap?... strap? tied up?...Humph, kidnapped...usually remember when that happens... ...No... Uh... strap... Seatbelt! I crashed the car!_ That shot the sapphire blue eyes back open.

He stretched his right arm out first, somewhat surprised when it moved relatively freely. He explored what he could reach, the sticky glob in the side of his hair, the pile of garbage in his lap, the seatbelt across his chest, the tiny cubes of glass scattered about.

It was the miniature trash pile on his left hip and ribs that finally percolated into his addled brain. The convenience store debris had settled there for the same reason Joe had - he was laying against the driver's side door, the car resting on its side with the front angled down. It was snowing in earnest now, the clumped flakes peppering through the upturned passenger window. At least an inch, maybe two, covered parts of the mangled seat and dash. He'd been here a while.

Joe craned his face around the air bag, straining to locate his feet. His left toes he spotted wiggling beneath the remainder of the steering column easily enough, but the right leg seemed to have crossed below the left somehow, disappearing at the knee under the wreckage. An attempt to pull it free shot a fierce pain lancing all the way to his navel.

 _Ok, so not doing that again..._

Sweeping the glass away as best he could, Joe cautiously unbuckled his seatbelt, hoping to inch away from the now voluminous steering wheel. Thankfully, the sideways pitch of the vehicle had kept him from nose planting in the thing. The snick of the released metal buckle was immediately followed by a stifled groan, the resultant movement almost too much to take.

 _What's that noise? Oh yeah, the stream..._

The cramping ache in his unseen foot took on a new meaning once he recalled the creek. His foot, maybe more, was submerged in the icy water sloshing around the pedals. And he was already beyond cold.

Fumbling at his waist, Joe was relieved to find his cell phone safely clipped to his belt this time. Time to call in the cavalry. He ran his thumb over the keypad, unaware of the red stain he left behind.

9-1-1.

Nothing. Not a ring, no 'please hold', nothing.

 _Are there still places in New York without 911 service? I can't remember...Why was I calling them? Oh yeah, the car._

*-S-P.

 _Huh, thought that would work... Gosh it's cold..._

0.

 _No operator? Doesn't there have to be an operator? It's really cold..._

He brought the tiny screen to his face, carefully studying the glowing letters. They meant something or other; he was pretty sure he'd known what this morning when he left the house. He had service. The battery was fine. It should work.

After a quickly abandoned, moan inducing shrug, he jabbed the select button, then the one. Seemed like the familiar thing to do.

"Hello?"

"Fr-Frank? You there?" Joe had no idea how raw his chattering voice sounded.

"JOE? What's wrong?!"

"Good, you're there, that's... uh, good...really, really, uh... good." The words were breathy, detached.

"Ooo-kay, then. Are you ok? Joe?... Joe?"

"No one else was there. You are. I'm glad."

"Yeah, me too. It's all around fantastic that I'm here. You're not firing on all cylinders - Now what's wrong?" Frank put a little edge behind his question, standard big brother worry starting to ratchet into something more. "What happened!?"

"Oh, sorry. That you, Frank?"

"Yessss. Where are you?" Frank pulled his car off the road, suddenly afraid to drive and process this conversation at the same time.

"In the volvo. I... sort of... wrecked Mom's car..."

"WHAT?! Are you alright? Joe?"

"Not so much, no. I'm stuck... and the water's cold."

Frank dropped his face into his hands, replaying the last few minutes. "Wait... You're still in the car? What water? How deep? Is it coming up?" _Tell me you didn't crash in the lakes somehow? That the car's not sinking? No, he was driving almost directly away from Lake Ontario, can't be in the Lakes._

"No. A little water, not rising water. ...A creek, but the water's cold. Hurts." Joe seemed a little more focused, but still several notches short of himself.

"Listen, you need to call the police." Frank didn't want to end the phone call, but Joe needed more than a friendly voice could provide him.

"Tried, Frank. They're not at home."

 _What's that supposed to mean? He's getting confused._ "Joe, hang up, and dial 9-1-1, right now. Call me back after. Right now, ok?"

"I told you... tried that. And I tried the operator. They won't talk to me..."

"That doesn't make sense." Frank wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or his brother. "What did they say?"

"Nothing... Calls won't go through... 'cept to you." Joe groaned, then cried out as the car settled another foot into the soft stream bed.

"JOE!?" Frank counted the hammering beats in his chest, every muscle taut listening for another sound, even a breath from his sibling. "Come on, Joe? Answer me.. Joe?!"

The second hand on his watch made a second round. "Joe?"

"Hey."

"Don't scare me like that, huh? How badly are you hurt?" _I need something to tell the medics, help me out here._

"Uh... my foot's stuck under the wheel... sprained... maybe. Left side hurts." The assessment came slowly, thick words stretched out like taffy. "Humdinger of... a headache."

"Did you hit your head? Pass out?" _Of course he did, just listen to him... Calm down, this isn't helping._ "Joe?"

"Yeah. Some blood... I'm cold, Frank... tired..."

 _Blood? Not good..._ "Hey, no sleeping, ok? Where's the blood?"

"Umm, nose."

"A bloody nose? That's ok, not too bad. You'll be-"

"Ear... hair... pants..."

 _No... no, no, no!_ "Is any of that still bleeding? Joe?"

"Maybe?..." The answer was small, perplexed, and Frank heard the rustle of Joe's efforts to check. "Sorry... can't tell."

"That's ok. Just stay still and I'll call an ambulance. It's gonna be ok. Where are you?"

"Lots of trees... and a stream... There was a sign..."

"Think, Joe. Exactly where?"

"Uh, I passed Remsen, um... twenty minutes ago? Didn't come to Cold Brook yet... Could have been longer... Think I slept a while..."

 _Crud, knew he passed out_. "How long do you think?"

"There's a few ...inches of snow," Joe seemed to be pondering, "in the car."

 _Way too long..._ "Never mind, that part doesn't matter." Frank scrolled through the GPS screens. "Ok, half hour past Remsen. On route 12 or route 5?"

"Twelve?"

"You aren't sure?"

"Probably twelve?" Joe waited. "You mad... at me?"

"What? No, why would I be mad at you?"

"Left the interstate..."

"Yeah, you did. We'll get to that. You didn't see any signs after Remsen?" _Need a better hint here, and need it in a hurry._

"Clemmon's Crossing." The answer came after a long pause. "Could have... been Cooper's Crossing."

"Ok. I need to hang up and call the ambulance. I will call you right back."

No answer. "Joe?"

"Don't... hang up... Frank."

"I have to, Joe, you need an ambulance and a chat with me isn't going to make one appear. I will call you right back, soon as I'm off the phone." Frank didn't like the lack of comprehension in Joe's voice at all.

"Don't Frank... Don't go."

"It's going to take a few minutes, tops. Stay put and I will call right back."

"Don't... please..."

"I'm sorry, Joe... "

"Please..."

"Right back, I promise..."

Frank ended the call, swallowing down a building sense of panic. Of all the things Joe was, clingy wasn't one of them.

"Tell me again where he is, son?" The sheriff sighed. Working Halloween weekend was the bane of his existence, even if the actual holiday wasn't until tomorrow.

"Past Remsen on Route 12, near Cooper's or Clemmon's Crossing."

"Um hmm, so you said. Look, kid, there is no Cooper's Crossing." The policeman rubbed his forehead, wishing he could transfer this call back to EMS and return to his crossword puzzle. "Seven letter word for an unsophisticated person... starts with 'B'."

"Bumpkin-"

"You callin' me names, boy?"

"No, no sir. Seven letter word - bumpkin. Sir, I don't see Cooper's Crossing on my map either, but my brother's hurt, he may have confused the name. Please, can you send an ambulance out there?"

"What's your name again?"

"Hardy, Frank Hardy. If you could-"

"Spell that."

"H-A-R-D-Y, Hardy, Franklin Isaac. My brother-"

"Date of birth?"

 _For chrissake..._ "November 14th, 1991. Joe needs-"

"How old are you?"

 _Do the math..._ "Seventeen. Sir, my-"

"Yeah, your brother, I know. Joshua, is it?"

"Joseph. Please, sheriff, if a patrol could just go out there for a drive by-"

"If you and your friends think you're going to egg a patrol car, you've got another idea coming, son. I know how you youngsters are with your pranks, every crazy stunt is hilarious."

"No sir. No pranks. He's stuck in the snow, he's injured, and he needs your help." Frank clamped down on a simmering anger that threatened to explode, knuckles stark alabaster against the silver of his phone.

"Now see there's another thing. There's no snow anywhere around here tonight."

"Yes sir, I can appreciate that, it isn't snowing where I am either. I can't explain that, but it doesn't change the fact that Joe's hurt and you're the closest police station. Please?"

"Fine. I will call my deputy, wake up his wife and kids, drag him out of bed, and dispatch him down route 12. But if this is a fool's errand, you'll regret it, are we clear?"

"Yes sir, crystal. Thank you."

"I expect a call from your parents first thing in the morning, Mr. Hardy, don't forget it."

"Yes sir, first thing."

Frank slammed the phone onto the seat, quick breaths doing their best to dispel his temper.

He programmed directions into the GPS as quickly as he could, realizing he was now slightly south of Joe as well as east. His father's rule about no cell phones while driving was a good one, but Frank was about to make an exception. At least he had a hands free speaker, and if he got grounded later, so be it. That took care of his family rules; it wasn't going to do much for potential speeding tickets, but maybe then the police would pay attention to him. Turning the car around he left the interstate, determined to reach his brother.

Another rushed pair of calls extracted a promise from Sam Radley to track the GPS signal in Joe's phone and left a gingerly worded message for his parents.

 _Joe, come on, get the phone..._

 _That's the sixth call to Joe's cell... Even Sam won't call me back... It's been over an hour... Joe?_

"Hi?" Joe's gaze wandered around, trying to spot an elusive noise.

"H-hello?" Giggles twittered in the distance, bouncing about the woods, but there were no words. Maybe the laughing woke him.

A shrill chirp closer by captured his attention. The phone.

"Frank?" The rasp was much weaker now.

"Thank God. You scared the beejebbers out of me, Joe!"

"What? Why?"

"You have no idea how long I've been trying to get you back on the phone. Where are you? Did the police get there? Are you at the hospital yet? Are you ok? Let me talk to the doctor!"

"Ah... Mom's car... Are you cold, Frank? ...I'm really... really cold... ...Must be coming down with something..." Joe tried to spot a clock, but the oddly crinkled dash didn't seem to possess one. He talked to Frank a couple of minutes ago, didn't he?

"You're STILL in the car!?" Disbelief mingled with fear to roll in his stomach, but he had to convince Joe he had it together _. Don't panic, not going to help, don't panic, five, four, three, two, one..._ "That's ok, Joe, don't worry about it. Look, I've been heading your direction and I just drove through Cold Brook, then got on route 12. I've got to be almost on top of you by now."

"Made good... time in the snow..."

 _There is no snow, Joe, just rain... What's wrong with you, kiddo?..._ "Right. Look around and tell me exactly what you see."

"Uh, trees... snow... the stream... the bridge..."

"One at a time. Lots of trees? Pines, hardwoods, saplings?"

"Really cold..."

"I know, I'm sorry. The trees?"

"Not pines... no leaves... Tall, dense..."

"Good, that's it. Stick with me, I'll come get you myself. How far is the road from the stream? Forty, fifty feet?"

"No."

"I'm on route 12, and the road's about forty feet up from the stream bank."

"No... Five feet... You laughing... at me?"

"Course not. Five feet?" Frank pulled over long enough to peer at the map screen again. "Joe, I think you may have turned off on Old River Road. It parallels the main road, but lower down. I'm going back that way."

"Quit laughing... not like you've... never missed a turn... Wow, headache. Think I might... have wrecked the car..."

"Ye-ah. You did wreck, Joe. Don't you remember?" _I've gotta find him now... right now... where the heck is that cop? The answer better not be staring at 11 across and 22 down!_

"Oh, yeah, did... It's cold here... There were toys... Hey... don't laugh."

"I promise I am not laughing, Joe."

"Heard you."

"No, the wreck's playing with your head. Ok, I'm on the river road right beside the creek. You said bridges?"

"Uh-huh. Can we do this... later?... I'm cold... Need a nap..."

"NO!" _Don't you go back to sleep on me, don't you dare..._ "Sorry, no dice. Tell me about the bridges."

"One lane... Old. Stone."

"Only bridges I've crossed so far were metal and russet colored."

"Yep... Saw that one first."

 _Three not one, but who's counting_? "Ok, I'm going the right way then. The bridge you see, how far is it from you?" _See, question and answer, detective fundamentals 101. I can fake calm and collected, just have to sell it to Joe._

"Back bumper may ...still be on it." Joe let out a sharp hiss that tapered into a moan. "Glad you find... this... so entertaining."

"The last thing this is to me is entertaining. I don't know why you hear laughing, but I swear it isn't me. The car went off a bridge?" _God, Joe, you could have died..._

"Uh, yeah... More over it... than off, I think... Pillar at the end of the bridge... sort of launched it... 'Night, Frank... tired..."

"No you don't! No sleeping. The pillar you see. What's it look like?"

"The first bridge pillar was... uh... plain... but this one is... lumpy..."

"Lumpy? Like how?... Joe?... Joe?"

"ARRGGGHHH!"

"JOE!" _Don't do this me, Joey. Come on, give me something here. A groan, sigh, anything..._ "J-Joe?"

"Arghh... uhhh... uhhh... uhhh..."

Frank's relief at the misery filled pants crushed his denial of how frantic he'd become. Only when he tried to speak again did he realize his hand was now firmly clamped over his mouth.

"Talk to me? Please?"

"Uhhhh... not...uhh...stuck...uhh...anymore... ...Wait..."

"I'm right here, kiddo." Frank squelched all his questions, the harsh grunts searing as much pain into him as his sibling. "I'm right here."

"Uhh... wanted to see... the pillar... better. Yanked my... leg free... Uhh... most of it..."

"Most of it?" Frank couldn't help a squeak as horrific images filled his head.

"It's ok... uhh... just skin..."

 _Ok, that's ok, skin grows back. Calm down, he's gonna be ok._

"M'better... Lion head."

"What?" Frank was still recuperating from the 'most of it' comment.

A sigh stretched out while Joe attempted to remember the question. "Ummm...The top of the pillar... It's a... lion's head."

 _Dammit..._ Frank cranked the wheel around hard left, reversing course with a squall of tires and speeding back the way he'd come.

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

Frank guided the van onto the soft dirt, out the door before the rumble of the engine faded. He skidded down the small drop at the base of the steel bridge abutment to the stone span below; pebbles avalanching beneath the tread of his shoes. The curve of the pavement circumvented the older, partially crumbling structure. He'd driven the length of the river road twice now, and the tip of the lion's head sculpture had caught his eye both times. How in the world had he missed Joe?

No tire tracks marred the ground, nor did a mangled guardrail suggest the sedan had dropped from one bridge to the other. Frank pulled his eyes up from his sneakers to the gurgle of the flowing water, half afraid to look.

"Joe?" The cell phone dangled in the arm scraping the soil for balance as he called into the frosty night. "JOE?"

The car wasn't here. His brother wasn't here. But-

"JOE?" The louder bellow produced the same results.

"Frank?"

Disappointment trending into despair sliced through the older of the brothers when he realized the query still travelled through the phone. Frank slid his spine down the mortared blocks of the pillar, the lion now unfurling his mane above the boy's bowed head.

"I'm here, Joe. Still here _." Question is, where are you, little brother?_

"You find the bridge, Frank?... Thought I heard... the van..."

"I thought I found it." Weariness bled through in his words. "This is the only spot that matches your description, Joe. I was so sure... I'm sorry."

"It's s'ok... uhh.. Try again? I see... um... There's an oak... hanging over the bridge... Big fat limbs... Third one up has-"

Frank picked up the description, "a perfect tree house fork like the one in the backyard, except-"

"about twice as big..." and Joe finished it. "Frank, we're... looking..."

"at the same tree. How, Joe? I see the tree, I see the lion, how can I not see you?"

"Don't know... uhhh... Why are you... doing that?"

"What?"

"Laughing and... uh... whispering."

"I'm not, I promise I'm not. When have I ever thought it was funny that you're hurt?"

"N-never." Joe shifted, damping a sharp intake of breath. "Cold... Frank?... Where are you?"

"Joe, I'm trying, I am. I'm sorry."

"Know that... Where... precisely?"

"Leaning on the pillar."

Joe shifted a bit further, groaning. "Which side?"

"Downhill, facing the water." Frank riffled through his hair, startled by the snowflakes that scattered to the billowed white blanket at his feet. _It wasn't snowing when I parked the van. I know it wasn't. It has to be a good forty degrees._

"I think... I can... get there."

"Joe, no. You're going to hurt yourself worse if you move. I **will** find you."

"Yeah... but it'll be easier... if I come where you are."

"Don't move, please? I've called the police a dozen times, I've called Sam again; once I get to you, they'll have to come, Joe. We'll get you to the hospital. You'll be ok."

"Frank?... Don't think... I can wait... Not hurt so bad maybe, but...I 'm really cold..."

"Don't say that, ok? You're going to be alright. You will." _Please believe that; if you will, then I will._

"Ow... ugh... geeze hurts... ow ow ow... "

"Your moving, aren't you? Joe, stay put-"

"Will... uurrgh... soon as I... ow... get to the pillar. Ah, boy, that hurts... almost there... ow... Yes!"

"Yes, what?" Frank took some comfort in the halt of the wheezed gasps. Joe must have come to a stop.

"I made it... to the pillar... Where'd you go?"

 _No, not possible. Not at all. No way. Nope_. "I'm still sitting here staring at the water, Joe, and I hate to bring it up, but you're not here."

"Must be at opposite... ends...of bridge."

Frank seized on the rational explanation, glaring through the swirling snow at the other end of the structure, a scant thirty feet away. A matching pillar flanked the stone sidewall, complete with feline adornment.

Joe struggled to his feet, mirroring the thousand yard stare. Neither brother sighted the other.

"Snow's... pretty heavy..."

"Yeah, the visibility's awful. I can barely see across." Twin slashes of illumination from the van's headlights feebly challenged the night.

"Must be it..." Joe fought to bar fear from his reply. Only the certainty that Frank was coming had made the situation bearable.

"But Joe? How come I see the lion fine?"

The few brown leaves clinging to branches rattled and the wind howled about, and yet a pervasive silence filled the woods.

Joe finally ventured into the chasm. "You hear that?"

Frank reluctantly blinked the tableau away, conceding he couldn't somehow conjure Joe out of sheer willpower. "Yeah, wind's picking up."

"Not that... the giggle."

"I told you-"

"I know that's... not you, bro. You don't... giggle."

Frank closed his eyes, mentally sifting every sound in the wintry forest. "You hit your head; but I must plain be crazy. I hear it."

"Hang up the phone." Joe clicked his off before Frank could protest.

"Frank?... Still hear me?"

The whispered question drifted in with the snowflakes, winding through his bones to spike a shiver down his spine. _He sounds so far away..so... hollow._ "Yes. You?"

"Muffled, but... I can hear you." Joe managed a faint snort. "Guess... you are...here... huh?... Here being the... twilight zone..."

"This isn't possible, Joe. It's absolutely not, and I don't believe in the twilight zone. I'm coming across the creek to get you."

"Not sure... that's a good... idea. Getting the feeling... this bridge... isn't quite right... There's a light up the... bank a bit... House, probably...I'll go there."

"You can't go anywhere; you can't even get through a sentence at one go."

"Can, too."

"That one doesn't count. Don't move." The older boy knew the chances of that were pretty much zero. His brother's stubborn streak would revolt either against being bossed around or passive acceptance of his fate; or more probably both. _Please just sit still and let me help you._

Ten minutes and six falls later, Frank was soaked to the skin, the tumbled rocks of the stream bed supplying nothing in the way of traction. _How'd he drive over this; the whole deck's in pieces._

No Joe anywhere. He doubled over at the edge of the flowing water, palms braced against his knees, blowing hard enough to have run a marathon. _Shouldn't have been that difficult, Hardy. Stream's like slogging through frozen molasses._

He scowled dumbfounded at the ossified cat. The stylized curls molded into the sculpted mane were predictable, the deep metallic green auto paint flecks smeared amongst them were not.

"Joe? JOE?" Frank was rapidly shouting away the last of his voice.

"Not so... loud...dude."

Frank whirled around, the familiar weight of his brother's touch skimming across his back. His fingers opened to grasp Joe's shoulder, determined to pull him close, inexplicably capturing only empty winter sky.

 _Tee hee hee... tee hee..._

"Joe?"

"Have to... go inside... too cold..."

"You didn't want me to hang up last time, and now you want split up? I don't understand."

"Me neither... scared to... gotta go... "

"NO! Don't go anywhere. You don't know how far that house is, you don't know how badly you're hurt, the snow could pick up again and cause a whiteout, that maniacal giggle may come from a bona fide maniac-"

"Regular ray... o' sunshine... aren't ya?... I can... get there... unghhh, hurts... can't stay here... so cold... Go back... Frank... Please, go back."

 _He's scared... Why can't I see him? What if?... No, don't be insane, Hardy, that's crazy. You are not talking to your little brother's ghost... I can almost touch him. He crashed, but he's here. Now he sees lights I don't...Oh, no... I'd know if he... No, NO!_ Frank's imagination revved into overdrive, throttling out hope until logic ultimately reasserted its supremacy in all things Frank.

 _So, if Joe died in this spot, then where's the car? Answer me that, Einstein? There's a perfectly normal explanation for this - somewhere - I just don't happen to know what it is._

Frank stood his ground another ten minutes, calling out alternating with dialing the phone, the chattering of his teeth travelling down to his sodden toes. Joe never answered his shrieked pleas.

 _He went to a house. A house I can't begin to find. Fine, straightforward enough. I'm hauling myself out of this water and into that police station, and then Barney Fife can get out of his bloody desk chair and into his squad car if I have to stuff him in there through the tailpipe._

 _You're it._

 _No, you're it._

 _Am not, Abigail. You're it._

Joe swiped the pink tinged snow away from his nose, the crusted ice abrading his face the first clue that he'd stumbled. Again. The farther he meandered into the trees, the less certain he was this had been his idea. He'd heard himself tell Frank to go, but he honestly couldn't remember coming to that decision. Worse was the recollection of Frank screaming himself hoarse while Joe resolutely limped away. "I shouldn't ...have done that... Wouldn't have..."

"Gotta get up." The younger Hardy voiced his thoughts aloud, preferring that to the increasingly intrusive whispers. He was more or less trudging upstream, perversely grateful for the fierce cold clawing up his legs. "Can't feel them... as much... Small favors."

He struggled to his knees, drafting a nearby sapling to push the rest of the way upright. "Aaahhh... ow. Ok, so maybe ...I still feel them... some."

 _Ollie Ollie oxen free._

"Someone there?" Joe froze, holding his breath. "Hello?"

 _Hee hee hee._

 _This old man, he played one, he played knick knack on my thumb..._

"Are you lost?... Awfully late... to be out... Hello?... Do you need... help?" Joe wasn't at all certain how he could rescue children wandering the forest at night when he was hopelessly lost himself, but he couldn't abandon them out here. "Should backtrack... to Frank... wherever that is..."

 _Heheheee tee hee hee._

 _I'm a little teapot, short and stout..._

He waited, wondering whether he should seek out the treble voices or keep going. He needed help, and needed it soon, but they were children, perhaps as frozen and tired as he was.

 _Come out and play with us_.

 _One , two, three, four, five, once I caught a fish alive..._

A flash of powder blue skirt whipped behind a tree. Joe bit his lip, reluctant to admit his unease. "Unease... yeah right... Think I've... made it well ...into completely freaked out."

 _The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout..._

 _Come play._

"I'll help you... if I can... Hello?..."

 _Tee hee hee._

 _Five, six, Pick up sticks. Seven, eight, close the gait..._

"Hello? Anyone there?... Just kids... probably just kids... harmless..." Yet every instinct screamed at him they were anything but. "Hit my head harder ...than I thought ...that's all. ...Almost to the house ...can rest and let...Frank say told ...you so."

 _London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down..._

"Who's there?" Joe's better foot shot out from under him, landing him flat on his back. "Umphff... " For long moments he thought the air driven from his chest was gone for good, fish-mouthed gasps providing nothing. A sickly whoosh accompanied the long awaited next breath.

Finally able to move, he grabbed at a bulge prodding his hip. "Just like... prince and... the pea..." He wrapped his hand around the object and wiggled it from beneath him, cold stiffened fingers unable to discern what it was until he held it before his eyes. "A jack in the box... more toys... out to get me..."

He tossed the rusted tin box aside, once again forced to spend what little strength he had to regain his feet. "Gotta get there soon... or not gonna get there... at all..."

 _Ring around the rosy, pocket full of poesy..._

 _Come out and play..._

"Just kids, Hardy.. nothing to be... scared of... Not that I'm... scared... I like little kids... Frank... says I'm... still a... kid.." Joe staggered from one tree trunk to the next, balance ebbing even as the tide of murmurs grew. The fleeting glimpses of billowed dresses and flying pigtails sped up, joined by fleeing boys in old fashioned caps. He wheeled at each mirage, only have it vanish with a direct look. "Don't like... these kids... so much..."

 _Frank and Callie, sittin' in a tree..._

 _Come pla-aay..._

 _Down in the valley where the green grass grows, there sat Iola, sweet as a rose..._

"Our names... you know... our names... No more chocolate... before bed... for me..." Joe wrapped his arm around a slender trunk, fighting to get his bearings. "Light was... that way?... Trees are.. closing in... Frank?"

 _All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel..._

 _Red Rover, Red Rover, send Joey right over..._

"Stop! Stop it!... Go away!" Little fingers suddenly snatched at his coat tail, snuck into his pockets; feathered touches never quite seen. "Not real... not."

 _Jo-eeeey... Come out come out wherever you are..._

 _Joe-eeeeey_

The small bodies increasingly fluttered against him, patting his cheeks, swinging on his belt, plucking at his pant legs. The whispers crescendoed against his battered ears, unfazed by the arms he clamped about his head.

"No... don't... no..."

 _Come out come out wherever you are..._

 _Joe-eeey..._

 _Ephraim, Amelia, time to come inside..._

 _Ashes, ashes..._

"No... please..." The swirling shadows around him shaded into cherubic faces the color of ice. "No...please... Don't... don't touch... me..." The ethereal hands solidified to drive Joe to his knees. "No... no... Frank!"

 _Horace, Abigail, come ho-ome..._

 _Come pla-aay..._

 _Joe-eeey..._

 _Joseph, come insi-i-ide.._

 _Joe-eeey..._

"No... please... please... Frank?... help me..."

 _We all fall down!_

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**

Hi everyone. Thank you so much to Evergreen Dreamweaver, Cherylann Rivers, Erin Jordan, and Hlahabibty for the kind reviews on this odd little tale. Three chapters after this one. Most of my stories don't take a supernatural or creepy turn, but then, this one was for a Halloween contest originally. I'm happy to hear from everyone, it keeps me in the writing mood for the 2 new HB stories I'm currently working on. Thanks!

 **CHAPTER 4**

Frank slumped as he turned off the ignition, staring at the dull tan blocks of the police station wall. A single street lamp hovered at the entrance, the remainder of the street glossy black in the steadily falling rain. He'd been half way to Remsen when it sank in that he'd actually driven away and abandoned Joe.

His cell phone sat on the opposite seat, mockingly useless. Frank ran an exhausted hand over his face and picked the phone up again, wanting to make one more attempt at avoiding the building at front of him. He punched the speed dial for home. No one was supposed to be there, but he still slung the phone into the floor board in aggravation at the lack of an answer. The response to his home number was the same as the one he'd achieved by dialing the Bayport police, the local state police detachment, Sam Radley, and a half dozen of his friends. _The number you have reached is not in service..._

He exited the van with a squelch and trooped inside the station. The interior was dim, a dull wood floor and grime coated plaster walls suggesting turn of the century construction. Turn of the last century, anyway. A long wooden counter ran across the entry a dozen feet in, blocking access to the remainder of the interior. Empty cherry wood chairs on cast iron rollers graced workstations that no doubt would have been manned had it not been far past midnight, with a fine layer of dust marking a few unused areas. Spotting an old fashioned brass bell on the desktop, Frank rang it and waited.

A mammoth-sized man of about fifty emerged from the steel door to the right, his grey uniform struggling to encase an ample girth. He was half a foot taller than Frank and had that unmistakable look of an athlete gone to seed, although at the moment he could have passed for a grumpily awakened bear. "Something you need, son?"

Glancing at the name tag and brass star, Frank cleared his hoarse throat. _What I need is someone without an attitude provided by Dirty Harry, but seeing as that isn't an option..._ "Sheriff Colin, I think we spoke on the phone earlier. I'm Frank Hardy, and I still haven't been able to find my brother ..."

Colin's scowled deepened as he interrupted the youth dripping on his floor. "Look kid, I don't know what sort of a game you're playing at tonight, but you need to turn yourself around and get right on back out that door. I don't appreciate having my time wasted."

"No sir, I'm sure you don't, but Joe wrecked our mom's car and we have to..."

" **We** don't have to do anything. Now get out of my police station and go sleep off whatever it is you're on. I'm sure when you wake up in the morning your brother will be right where he's supposed to be." A beefy palm landed on Frank's shoulder, rotating him toward the door.

Frank ducked out from under the hand, forcing his face into a placid expression. "No sir, I don't believe he will. I was able to speak to him on the phone and he definitely crashed the car. Did your deputy see anything?"

"You mean other than the annoyed look on his wife's face when I woke them all up? He didn't see a thing out of place on route twelve beyond a pair of stray mutts. The EMS folks I also woke up on your account didn't either. Now. Go. Home." The older man's face was tinting toward florid.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, sir. I need your assistance to find my brother. Can I at least use the station phone to make some calls?"

"You know what, boy, that's it. I have tried to have a sense of humor with your ridiculous shenanigans, but I have had it. You have made more than enough calls for tonight." The sheriff slipped the handcuffs off his belt, turning to roar over his shoulder. "Carl, get down here!" The cuffs snicked closed before the youth fully registered what the lawman intended to do.

"Frank Hardy, you have the right to remain silent..."

Frank let the rest of the recitation drone on, rapidly trying to figure out what in the world just happened. "Can I ask exactly what you're arresting me for? There does have to be a reason beyond interrupting your sleep... sir..."

"You think I don't have a reason!? Let's see son, there's making false calls to 911, filing a false police report, ingestion of illegal substances by the looks of it, and, oh, we've got a one AM curfew on underage drivers in this county that you're currently violating."

Frank took a deep breath and fought to adopt a reasonable tone, his shoulder twitching as his hand started toward his hair out of habit only to be abruptly stopped by the handcuffs. "I swear the reports aren't false, I don't believe you've actually seen me driving, and I haven't ingested anything beyond a roast beef sandwich. I'll be happy to answer to all this tomorrow, but we have to help Joe." _Although I'm starting to think he might be safer without the Keystone Cops here anywhere near him..._

The deputy shuffled slightly behind his boss, looking at the young man more closely. "He's awfully coherent to be stoned, Chief, and he doesn't smell drunk."

"Are you daft? He's pale, he's shaking, his heart's racing a million miles an hour, and he waltzed into a police station in the middle of the night to spout a bunch of bull. Stoned until proven otherwise, I say."

"He's soaked to the skin, Colin, that'll make anybody shake in this weather, and if his brother really did crash, he may be frightened enough to speed his pulse up."

Frank stood stock still, hoping the exchange might still turn his way. A hope that quickly evaporated.

"You looked for his brother yourself, Carl; he ain't out there. Lock the kid up, drug test him, and have him call his folks. We'll straighten this out in the morning. I'll be back in an hour or two."

"Yes sir. Where are you headed?"

The sheriff pulled his face into a passable imitation of a dyspeptic bulldog. "Out to route twelve like a blang fool, heaven knows why. Keep an eye on that boy and don't let him cause any more trouble."

"Yes sir."

"Come on, Mr. Hardy, up the stairs."

Frank considered a few options that would have gotten him grounded through his fiftieth birthday in the next second, but between the handcuffs and the deputy's hand on the grip of his pistol, he slumped and made his way up the staircase, the steel door locking behind him. _Gotta find a way to talk myself out of this one. Doubt it'll help Joe much if I get myself shot..._

The upstairs area was simple in design, a pair of scarred wooden desks with oversized name plates along one wall and three simple cells lining the other. Each contained a steel cot bolted to the wall and an empty shelf above basic bathroom facilities, and none of them were occupied at the moment. Deputy Carl Shumate steered his charge to the cell closest to his desk, sliding the door closed between them before removing the handcuffs. He shuffled through a small closet at the rear of the room and shoved a pile of retrieved items at Frank through the door slot.

"You're going catch pneumonia if you stay in those clothes. Put your watch, wallet, and any jewelry in the Ziploc, and your clothes in the big plastic bag. Shoes go in the small one. This stuff ought to fit and there are sheets to make the bed."

Frank pulled in the offered stack, awkwardly shifting from one foot to another when Carl sat down at the desk not five feet away. "I, uh... Are you going to... Um, is there somewhere I could?..."

An understanding grin drifted across the deputy's face. "Shy, kid? Sorry, you're changing in there, that's the rules. You know, though, I feel like some coffee. Think I'll go downstairs and fetch a cup. You want some?"

"No sir, I just want Joe." Frank dumped the fresh clothes on the bed, looking up as the deputy left the room. _Small favors..._

By the time Deputy Shumate made it back, Frank was dressed in the plain white t-shirt and orange sweats, the shivering noticeably better as he draped a wool blanket around his shoulders. Even the lumpy cot called to him, but sleep was a luxury he didn't have the time for. He managed a weak smile when he noticed the officer had brought him a cup of coffee anyway, along with half a hot sandwich.

"Hope one cream is ok. I tried your folks, they aren't home." Carl drew a rubber tourniquet and syringe from his pocket. "You can refuse the drug test; we don't have a court order for it."

Frank shook his head, brown hair still vaguely scattering water. "If it'll clear this mess up, I'm fine with it." _Pretty sure this is illegal without dad's consent, but if a pinprick keeps this guy talking to me, then he can do a drug test, check my cholesterol, test for malaria, see if I have beri beri for what I care..._

Blood drawn and the sandwich devoured, Frank sat on the end of his bed, wracking his brain for a way to get out of here and back to Joe. Both hands disappeared into his hair, again, eyes staring sightlessly into the speckled tile floor. Thirty seconds later he was back to pacing in circles, waiting for divine inspiration to strike. _Think like a case, Hardy... Ok, missing person's investigation..._

For any other case, leaving the creek when he couldn't reach his missing person there would have been the textbook approach. When one avenue doesn't pan out, investigate other leads, seek assistance. The sheriff's response really couldn't have been predicted, right? _I'd have no doubt that was the correct plan if it wasn't Joe... but it is Joe. Changes everything. I have to get out of here. Have to..._

"Frank?" The deputy's question was soft, his style completely different from his good ol' boy boss.

The brunette head snapped up, startled. "Yes?"

"You really are worried, aren't you, kid?"

"Yeah, I am. Joe's out there and he's in trouble." Somewhere mid sentence Frank resumed lap number two hundred twenty two, give or take. "I can feel it."

"I drove all the way down route twelve and both the side roads that go near the water. I didn't see a wrecked car or a teenage boy anywhere." Carl vacated his chair, settling instead on the end of his desk and turning a sympathetic gaze into the cell. "Walking a mile in there isn't going to help a darn bit."

"No, I guess not. You didn't see anything unusual? At all? Nothing out of place?" Frank forced himself to sit back down at the negative head shake that came his way. Maybe there was another way to get help his sibling. "Don't I get to call somebody?"

"Sorry. You're under eighteen, so who you contact in this situation is up to your parents. I already tried your home number again and didn't get an answer."

"Surely there's some leeway in the policy somewhere? I mean, there are minors that don't have parents. They've got to call somebody else, right?"

"Actually, no. If there are no parents we call CPS, and if we can't contact yours within twelve hours that's what will happen with you, too. Child Protective Services will assign you an advocate to go with you to court."

"Perfect." Frank dropped his chin onto his folded hands, deep brown eyes still meeting the deputy's grey ones. "My brother's stranded out there. He may die while you and I sit here chattering on about telephone protocol _." Don't let that be true, Joe, please don't..._

Carl hissed a long audible sigh, wondering what about the youth in front of him made him want to cross swords with the always disagreeable Colin. It wasn't like that was exactly smart. "Ok, for the sake of argument, I'll assume your brother really did crash somewhere outside Remsen. Is he familiar with the area at all?"

"No, we were picking up paperwork upstate for our father." As much as Frank wanted the opportunity to build his own reputation as a detective, this was one occasion where he wished he hadn't gotten a blank look at the name Fenton Hardy.

"Maybe he confused where he is then." The officer fished through a junk strewn drawer, hand emerging with an assortment of maps. Unfolding one across his desk, he tossed another to Frank. "Where did he start from?"

"Clayton." Frank smoothed the creases of the yellowed paper, his index finger tracing Joe's route. "Dad told him to stay on the interstate, but he didn't like the weather and wanted to shorten the trip. He got on route twelve at Watertown."

Carl frowned, eyes following the outlined path. "If he was heading back to Bayport, he needed to hit route five after he made it through town here. Are you sure he didn't get that far? I drove that way a few miles, but if you're convinced he's out there, that's where we need to look."

"No."

The flat certainty in Frank's tone caught the other man off guard. "Just because he told you he's on twelve doesn't mean he is, Frank."

"Yes, it does."

"Kid, you can't-"

"Could you not do that?" Frank regretted the sharp comment as soon as he made it. _He's the only person who is even considering helping us..._

"Not do what?"

"Nothing, I'm sorry."

The deputy mentally replayed the conversation. "Call you kid?"

"Yeah." Frank hung his head. "It doesn't matter."

Carl stood up, shoulder leaning against the iron bars as he hovered closer to occupant of his jail. Half dry brown hair reflected the number of trips the youth's fingers had raked through it and the corners of the chocolate eyes were tight with restrained urgency. Regardless of what Colin might have said, Carl was a fair judge of character and nothing about Frank Hardy suggested a kid out to stir up a little Halloween mayhem for kicks. Frank was worried and frustrated, working his way into scared and angry respectively.

"Kid makes it sound like you don't know what you're talking about, doesn't it? I apologize. Show me where you think Joe is."

Frank tapped an area by the river. "Near the bridges on this road."

"That's pretty specific. Did you see something out there, Frank?" The tone of his voice was studiously neutral. After all, every small town had its stories.

 _Nothing that won't have you transferring me to the county looney bin. Maybe I ought to just save you the time and drive myself there._ "Joe's description was pretty detailed. Unfortunately, this map's not." Frank shoved it aside in irritation, his gaze settling on the laptop on the sheriff's desk. "Don't suppose you could pull up a map that's a bit more recent? Or maybe take a look at Google earth?"

Carl faced off with the laptop as if sizing up a potentially violent felon. "Bloody contraption belongs to Colin. I can probably coax a map out of it, but that whole satellite image thing isn't going to work for me."

Hoping he wasn't pushing his luck, Frank gestured toward the computer. "It would work for me."

The deputy ran a hand across the back of his neck, considering. "You're not supposed to be on the internet in there... " After another look at Frank's face, he shrugged. "Fine. Keep it turned around so I can see what you're doing."

Ten minutes later, Carl was fidgeting while the screens rapidly shifted , all of which seemed to be related to Remsen and the local area. He snatched Colin's abandoned crossword off the sheriff's desk, attempting to fill time instead of fretting about the young Hardys. Both of them.

 _Ring around the rosy..._

"Did you say something?" Frank thought he heard... something.

"What? Oh, no, I didn't. Blank twenties. Third letter A." The deputy didn't realize he muttered the clue aloud.

"Roaring." Frank's answer was equally distracted, his mind never leaving the Chamber of Commerce site he'd found about the town. An ironic chuckle slipped out when he found a paragraph about visiting the local jail, which was apparently on the National Register of Historic Places.

"Is the Old River Road in the city limits?"

"No, it's county jurisdiction, but since we don't have a city police department, there's not much difference. "To terminally inhale water, five letters."

"Drown. I can't find when the new bridges were built on that route."

"Why would that matter? Before I was born, I think. Live in teacher, historical. Nine letters."

"Governess. Joe mentioned a stone bridge, but the ones I crossed were steel."

"The stone ones haven't been drivable for half a century, at least." Carl tapped his pen on the rumpled newsprint. "Three horse sleigh, starts with T."

"Troika. Joe said he drove across a stone bridge." _And I know which one except that explaining what I saw will get me locked up on a permanent basis. There has to be something here that will help..._

"Mysterious Stranger scribe."

"Mark Twain."

"No, twenty-two letters."

"Samuel Langhorne Clemens." A quick glance confirmed Deputy Shumate was absorbed in his puzzle and Frank fired off a terse email before returning to topographical images, trying to spot any houses near Joe's bridge.

"You're good at this."

Frank detached himself from the screen and looked up. "What, crosswords?"

"Um hmm."

"It's a New York Times one, right?" Frank had noticed the paper on the way in. "It's a little easier than their usual. Must be today's."

"Yesterday's actually. Finding anything to help you with your brother?"

"Maybe. If I do, are you going to, um, I'll need to... go." Frank limped through the sentence, aware that friendly or not, a county deputy wasn't likely to just let him go. "Or maybe you could?"

"I can't leave you locked in here alone, Frank, it's against fire regulations." He watched the young face fall. "But I will send somebody besides Sheriff Colin back out there, ok?"

"Ok." _Likely the best answer I can hope for. But somebody better read that email and rescue Joe. I can sit here 'til the cows come home, but he doesn't have that kind of time. Who am I kidding, the phones don't work, why should the email? I have to get out of here... Maybe if I tell him the truth?..._

"Deputy Shumate? I might have done a little more than talk to Joe on the phone. I'm pretty sure- No forget that. I'm completely sure I talked to him in person down by that river, and it was snowing, no matter what the weather says, and I can't begin to explain why I couldn't see him, but we need to get back out there. Please, I know it sounds crazy, but my brother's hurt and he's alone and no one will do anything. Take me back down to the river. I'll do whatever you want after that, I'll plead no contest to whatever the sheriff dreams up, and stay here as long as he wants, but... please..."

"Frank, I'm sorry, son, I am, but Colin's out there searching right now. I've been out there, and two ambulance crews have too. I'm not sure what else to-"

"Wait. Did you say that was yesterday's crossword?"

Surprised by the abrupt change in topic, Carl double checked the date. "Yep. Now-"

"It's not." Frank emphatically shook his head, at loss to explain the sudden sense that this was somehow tremendously important. "I did yesterday's crossword at breakfast. None of those clues were in there."

"You might not have gotten to that part yet."

"No, I finished it while Mom made the pancakes."

The deputy cocked an eyebrow. "You finished the New York Times crossword in the time it took to make pancakes?"

Frank had the decency to blush a little. "Um, yeah." _In ink..._ "That's not what the puzzle-"

This time the officer interrupted him. "Hold on a minute. Drown. Roaring Twenties. Troika. Governess. Clemens." He rolled the answers around his tongue another time, his already pale face fading to parchment. "Colin said your brother mentioned a Clemens' Crossing?"

"The sheriff said there isn't any such place."

"There used to be." Carl Shumate unconsciously wrapped his arms around himself, fending off the chill of childhood nightmares. Unlike the boy before him, Carl's brother hadn't had any particular care for his sibling, other than as a source of entertainment. And terrorizing him with the local ghost stories had nicely fit the bill. "The Clemens' family had a farm out there, sort of well to do for the area come to think about it. Hired themselves a nanny for the children and everything. You'd have to check me on the date, but sometime in the 1920's she took the siblings over a few farms to play. The weather turned nasty and the sleigh flipped into the water. She made it out, but all four of the younger children drowned."

 _The puzzle clues all... nah, that's crazy..._ Frank waited, willing the older man to continue, but the threat of sounding insane appeared to be hindering him as well. "Has anyone ever, uh, wrecked out there before?"

Carl squirmed, acutely self conscious. "Well, I mean, well, it all just old stories, you know? Things made up to scare kids. I'm sure there's nothing to it."

"Nothing to what?"

"Every now and then somebody does go missing out there. Been a long time since it happened; always seemed to be a teenage boy. Everybody always figured they were runaways since the cars, or even horses at first, were never found. There are tales, though. Tales about that governess."

 _There's no such thing as ghosts... There's no such thing as ghosts... No such thing as an invisible Joe either... Am I so afraid of making a fool of myself that I won't grab at a chance ... What's that term from English class? Willing suspension of disbelief... but that's supposed to be so you can enjoy a movie, not search for ghosts... I need to reach Joe before he freezes to death..._ Decision made Frank consciously pushed aside common sense, logic, and perhaps his link to reality. "What tales?"

"Not that I'm saying I put any faith in them, mind you," Carl's pallor declared just the opposite, "but if she wanted your brother as a playmate for the Clemens younglings, she might have taken him. Takes the playful, the young, those with a sense of fun. Blondes, the whole lot of them, but I'm guessing your brother's brunette, huh? Pulled him into the water and back to that farmhouse she would have, keeping her charges happy without them ever having to cross the river again. They say once you sleep the night in that house, you aren't leaving it ever again."

The deputy realized he'd slipped into ghost story mode and shrugged his shoulders. "If you believe that sort of thing."

"Of course not, but, just curious, did anyone turn up again?" Frank assessed Carl's expression.

"Not after sun up, anyway. Rumor says if you can get back across the stream yourself without spending the night there, you have a chance. Ridiculous legend, huh?"

"Sounds like it." Frank tried to sound casual and failed. "So, is the house still standing?"

"Nah. Some irate neighbor burned it back in the sixties, something to do with his son. The nanny died in the fire."

"She didn't leave after the children drowned?" Frank was surprised.

"No. The Clemens' family couldn't stand it there anymore. They moved away with an older son and abandoned the house. Come to think about it, there was something about the son and that teacher, too. He was youngish for that sort of thing, I'd think. I don't know if they left her the house or she simply took it after they were gone."

Frank closed the laptop, convinced now it didn't hold the answers he sought. He sat long seconds, aware of the thin layer of frost newly spreading over the inside of the window even as a trickle of sweat started down his back _. She couldn't have taken Joe... that's not... She's dead. Been dead fifty years almost. She couldn't..._

"Deputy?"

"Yeah?"

"Not that I put any account into stories like that either, but if it were your brother?"

Carl corrected the family dynamic without being aware of it. "If it was someone I cared about, I'd make sure they crossed Clemens' creek by dawn." He shook his head, not quite believing what he planned to do, before taking a heavy iron ring off the wall. The key slipped into a cell lock far older than the deputy and Frank combined. "Come on out of there, Frank."

"I... but the sheriff will... you'll... Thank you."

"Colin will be madder than a hornet, but I can handle him. Now come on out and go get your brother. Bring him by when you're sure he's ok and we'll work this out. Come on."

Frank stepped out from behind the bars, swiftly shaking Carl's hand. "Thank you." _I'm coming, Joe... crazy story or not, I'm coming... We can always get my straightjacket for the funny farm later... long as you're there to buy it for me.._

He made it as far as the doorway to the stairwell when am immense bellow rocked the hundred year old structure. "Where in the thunder are you going, boy!?"

"Sh-sh-sheriff? I was, ah-" Frank took a rapid step backwards, brain scrambling for the solution to this development. _I have to get to Joe, right now_. His eyes swept the room for a clock, desperate to know how long remained before sun up. Instead he spotted a wide eyed Carl gaping at his boss from the cell's open door. _Doesn't matter what it costs me..._

Another step back and left allowed the sheriff to storm closer, a plate sized fist grasping for a handful of white t-shirt. As Frank expected, a third side step and the fabric eluded the lawman's grip, over balancing the larger man.

A single well timed kick swept Colin's feet from beneath him, tumbling him into Carl and propelling the pair behind the waiting bars with the all the finesse of a bowling strike. The giant lumbered to his feet just in time to spot a swath of white cotton rounding the corner through the now closed cell, followed by sock clad feet thumping down the stairs.

"You're gonna to regret this boy! You hear me?! Not a smart decision, Mr. Hardy, mark my words. Are you listening to me, kid?! Knew you were nothing but a common trouble maker, and I bet that no account brother of yours is worse. Your father will be glad to be done with the lot of you, won't he, boy? You better be getting your hind end back up these stairs, son, and by God I mean right now!"

The tirade faded as Frank crossed the downstairs lobby, Carl's softer calls lost first. "Go on, Frank, go out and find your brother, we can work this out later. Go on out..."

 _Oh man, I am in so much trouble... I am in soooooo much trouble..._

"Go on out..."

"You hear me, boy?!"

 _Trouble doesn't even come close..._

The mash of noises squashed Frank's awareness of a fourth voice until well after he'd made it outside.

 _Come out, come out wherever you are..._

 _Joe-eeey's all go-onnne._

 _Ashes, ashes..._

 _Come out, come out..._

 _To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

"Ughhh, take it a little easier, Frank." Joe flinched away from the cloth dabbing at his face, surprised at the ice cold water.

"Shhh, Joseph, you're fine. Go back to sleep, shhhh." The feminine lilt of the voice washed over him, lulling him back toward welcome darkness. Not his mother's voice.

 _Iola? She never calls me Joseph._

He tried to shove the thought aside, but it grew, doubt expanding as shards of pain spiked through his skull. He managed to open one eye, but the scene before him did nothing to alleviate his confusion.

A serene face the color of porcelain smiled down at him, tendrils of white-blonde hair escaping a loosely coiled bun to frame ice grey eyes. Despite the unnatural silver pallor, she was lovely in a classic sense, an antique high collared lace blouse and cameo accenting a long neck. Joe realized with a start that his head was nestled in the grey skirts of her lap, the rest of him stretched along a sofa of crushed burgundy velvet that met ornate cherry wood trim at the upper edge.

"Amelia, pump me a fresh basin of water. Your brother's waking up."

"Yes ma'am." A slight girl of perhaps six or seven slid out of Joe's peripheral vision in a swirl of blue skirt and petticoats. For the briefest of instants her angelic countenance seemed to flicker into a skeletal grimace of grey skin and a dripping tangle of hair.

The woman's slender fingers skimmed over his hair and ear, the gossamer touch somehow leaving a stinging frost bitten trail in its wake. "Shhh, Joseph, you're going to be fine. You took a nasty stumble in the forest. Rest now. Shhhh. Ephraim, stoke the fire, but turn those lamps down. The light's too bright for him. Rest, Joseph. Everything's well now. Shhh."

Joe shook his head as much as he dared, trying to clear the cobwebs. He managed to focus a bit more as the oil lamps burned dimmer _._ Heavily flocked fabric adorned the walls and an embossed tin ceiling glowed above in the shifting firelight. A curio cabinet flanked each side of the marble hearth, overflowing with a bounty of toys St. Nicholas would envy. _Brother? Think I fell down Alice's rabbit hole. It's so cold... There was laughing and... clawing?_

"N-no." His tongue felt thick, reluctant to move. "Didn't stumble... I was in the woods and... they forced me down..." Joe gestured weakly in the direction the children had gone, the accusation sounding ridiculous aloud.

The young woman scooted from beneath him, landing softly on her knees beside the couch. She cupped his face in her hands before brushing a frosty kiss over his brow. "The children? Don't be silly. You must be having nightmares from hitting your head. Sleep, dear, you will feel well on the morrow."

 _Nightmares? Yeah, but I wasn't sleeping..._ "No. I can't stay here... need to get back to my brother..."

"Ephraim and Horace? They shall wait, Joseph. Shhhh. Sleep." She tucked a heavy flannel blanket around him, suitably cautious around his injured left side, before plumping a cushion below his bandaged right foot. "Shhhh, get some sleep. Shhhh."

The repetitive words wafted lower, imperceptibly replaced by the first strains of a lullaby. Joe bristled at the first notes, teenage indignation at being babied by a random stranger in full evidence. The longer she hummed, however, the more the car accident and disjointed conversation with Frank faded. There had been snow and a creek, hadn't there? A boy was there, reaching for him, pleading. A boy he should know...

The Victorian home around him solidified in his memory, his younger siblings clamoring around his feet in idyllic hours of childhood play, raucous laughter insinuating itself between the tired younger Hardy and an increasing hazy divergent recollection .

"Shhhh, Joseph, rest now. Shhh." The Brahms resumed and Joe began to doze, fond images of his youth on this farm easing the aches in his frame. Only the rare jarring glimpse of a lean brunette youth, so different from the honey blonde familiarity of his family, troubled his slumber.

Abigail crept closer to the sleeping teen, watching. She was glad Constance had retreated up the stairs; she would have never allowed Abby this near to the boy. Not until morning at least. Eventually her tiny form inched onto the sofa, her forearms resting on his chest. She traced a tentative finger down his nose, blatantly curious about the warmth she felt there. Constance was never warm.

"Will you play with me?" Abigail smiled, her query too quiet to have been heard, although she saw her breath ruffle the hair over his ear as spoke. "You have to play, brother dear-heart. The other times Constance brought you home you didn't understand. I didn't you think loved me anymore. I didn't want to make you go away again, you wouldn't play. Don't want to make you all gone again, Joey, but we'll have to. It's your fault, you know. Don't be scared, Joey. It won't take long, and then we'll play." Her finger traveled to the rim of his ear, smearing though the blood there before popping it into her rosebud mouth. "Come out and play."

 _Ollie Ollie oxen free..._

 _Jack be nimble, jack be quick... Jack conked Joey with a candlestick..._

The whispers seeped in, twisting his dreaming from warm melancholy to fragments of shorn metal and frigid cold. Little hands pawed at him, snatching at his clothes, surrounding him until the collective weight overwhelmed him.

"No... Don't... please don't..." Joe tossed on the narrow couch, the jumbled mental scenes forcing him back toward wakefulness. The blue eyes jolted open as he rolled onto the floor. Entangled in the thick blanket, he could only stare at the child of four who tumbled on top of him, her pale blue flesh oddly marred by a smudge of crimson across her lips.

"Did I wake you, Joey? Not yet. Shhhh. Not yet." The clear eyes hinted at an age she shouldn't possess. "Sleep, brother dear. Shhh."

Joe squirmed free of the encasing fabric, an inexplicable sense of panic welling at his little sister's endearment. Sharp pain lanced through his side as he sat up, only to multiply as his right foot met the floor.

Abigail wrapped small arms around his thigh, drawing his gaze downward. He recoiled from his blood stained clothes, dozens of tiny rips in the fabric ruby tinted and gaping. _What happened? Oh yeah, I fell. A nasty spill..._

He swayed, fumbling for the furniture arm to maintain his balance _. Abby and the others had to help me home. But..._

He was piecing it all together, determined to rein in the overblown fearfulness, when a fluttered kiss pressed into one of the exposed patches along his leg, Abigail quickly stifling a giggle. The preschooler's touch froze ice in his veins.

Joe automatically dropped a hand to stroke her hair, horrified at his urge to flee his own home, when he realized. Not a kiss at the only part of him his diminutive sibling could reach. A nip at his bloodied flesh.

"You're not... You're not... " Joe swallowed hard, false reality tumbling into an abyss. The room shimmered around him, cobwebs suddenly festooning the remnants of peeling paper and collapsed furniture. The parquet flooring was cracked now, strewn with the stuffing of rent teddy bears and shattered bits of china doll. Even Abigail's dress hung in tatters on a sunken frame. "Don't.. No... please..."

Another lap of her flicking tongue shattered his horrified revere. He lurched blindly for the door, the wind whirling as he broke her grasp and stumbled into the night. _Not right, this place, Constance, Abigail... not... not... mine..._

Voices came to him again, echoing from the trees.

 _Ashes, ashes..._

 _The cock doth crow for you, Joe..._

 _Ashes, ashes..._

 _If you be wise, 'tis time to die..._

To be continued...


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello again! Nearly wrapping this one up, just this chapter and a short epilogue. Thanks to Cherylann Rivers, Evergreen Dreamweaver, Paulina Ann and Erin Jordan for the reviews to keep me going, they always make me smile!**

 **CHAPTER 6**

Frank glowered at the ice clogged creek, angry at its failure to respond to his rant. He circled the van, again, scouring the ground for a tire track, footprint, anything that could definitively confirm he was in the same place as before. Four inches of fresh fallen snow met his eyes instead. The sprawling oak was the same, though, same knobby tree house branch; and while more far more ice encroached on the flowing water, the protruding rock pattern appeared the identical. This was the same spot; he'd swear to it. _For whatever that's worth at five o'clock in the morning from a guy plotting how to escape from a ghost while wearing his brother's boots._

He'd parked the van beside the steel bridge once again, but the stone one below was simply gone. Dropping to his knees, Frank rooted through the slush, cursing his lack of gloves as he felt for any remnants of the prior structure. If the deputy was to be believed, the bridge Frank saw only a few hours ago hadn't spanned Clemens' creek in decades, but something of the footers should remain. His stiff fingers finally met the half-buried edges of crumbled block, proving he had the correct location. He couldn't explain why digging out the foundation was so important other than perhaps as a touch stone to his brother. Or perhaps his faith in his own abilities was taking a battering tonight.

Frank rummaged through the supplies in the back of the van, frequently pausing to blow on his chilled fingers. He wasn't convinced it helped, but it was worth a try. Both boys typically kept foul weather gear in the vehicle, but he'd worn his coat and boots on his first foray into the water; the whole sodden mess now residing in the plastic bags of the Remsen police station. Joe had transferred his own kit to the sedan before leaving Bayport, but left his out of season snow boots. This was the pair Frank currently wore, his toes taking the occasion to remind him of his sibling's oddly small feet.

He crammed a knapsack with flares, a thermal blanket, cereal bars, water and a second flashlight, keeping the first one in his hand. He grimaced as he added the first aid kit, the need for it weighing him down far more than the contents. Stomping to warm up, he gazed through the forest, debating which way to go. _If I'm this cold already, how frozen is Joe?..._

Frank started upstream on his side of the creek, searching for a farmhouse light he had no reason to expect existed.

"Joe?"

"Joe?"

"JOE?"

 **"JOE?"**

The calls went unanswered, Frank's voice once more transforming into a rasp. Carefully picking through the upper branches of a downed tree, he kept his vision firmly on the ground, sweatpants already soggy from a number of stumbles. His fogged breath increased in tempo, grey wisps lost in the silver and black predawn landscape.

"JOE?"

 **"JOE?"**

Another fallen log blocked his path. Frank scrambled on top of it, trying to get his bearings in the dark forest. Splaying the flashlight among the trees, his heart sank. Nearly an hour of walking and he was inexplicably almost back to the bridge. The stone bridge, completely intact right down to the twin lion pillars. The modern metal span and his van had gone missing as thoroughly as his brother.

 _No... I followed the streambed. There's no way to walk in a circle doing that_. "JOE? CAN YOU HEAR ME? JOE?" Only the wind in the branches answered him. _Maybe I have to cross the bridge..._

"JOE?"

 _You're getting warmer..._

 _hee hee hehehehee_

"What? Who's there?" Frank swung the flashlight in a wide arc, spotting only lazily drifting flakes. He gingerly stepped onto the cobblestone surface, caught off guard when the snow immediately intensified, harsh wind cutting through his thin jacket.

 _Step on a crack, break your brother's back..._

The gale managed to shove him backwards, nearly landing him in the water again. "Is someone there? Come out, I can't see you."

 _Three blind mice, see how they run..._

"JOE?" Each step along the bridge decking required more energy than the last, the air thickening to bar his way. The blizzard hammered at his shoulders as he bowed his head into the spitting ice, unseen pressure threatening to collapse his chest. Frank struggled toward the lion statue at the opposite end, afraid to glance away from the sculpture and lose his way.

"JOE?"

"JOE?"

 _London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down..._

Frank couldn't hear himself over the incessant howling and yet the singsong cadence in his ears never relented, cresting in a peal of giggles when the stone feline winked at him.

 _Didn't see that.. I didn't..._ **"JOE?!"**

"F-Frank?"

The previously solid door hung half off its hinges as Joe staggered out of the farmhouse, the wind instantly assaulting him through his tattered clothes. Abigail grabbed at his heels, screaming for Constance when she failed to halt his flight.

The woods assailed the younger Hardy; the cragged bark of gnarled trees punishing any misplaced step, roots seemingly grasping at his toes, the frozen precipitation stabbing at his face and stinging squinted eyes. He gathered speed as he fled, headlong and directionless, away from the horror oozing from this place.

The scant light produced only charcoals and deep grey against ebony, the forest painted in a palette of decay. Snapping twigs behind him hinted at pursuit, keeping him moving in spite of a dozen different hurts vying to claim him.

He collided with another tree in the darkness, fresh blood again warming a swath from nose to chest as he dropped to his knees.

 _Ashes, ashes..._

"Leave me alone!" The hoarse cry was absorbed into the snow, barely audible even to Joe.

"Oh, no, Joseph, I cannot." Constance's lilting tones still rang of charm and gentility, but her expression contorted into a snarl as she tackled him. The blonde curls fell in limp grey strands and the lace blouse was now scorched, glimpses of charred bone and muscle peeking through. Ancient wrinkled skin hung in random patches over a rictus grin, one of the looser strips grotesquely fluttering as she spoke.

"Please... let. me. go..." Joe dug his heels into the slick earth, desperately seeking leverage to buck the specter off him. Bony fingers remained clamped around his wrists as she pinned them to ground over his head. "Just let...me go..."

"Go where, Joseph? It is time to come home." She leaned closer, her fetid breath a nauseating warning before the lipless mouth kissed his forehead.

"That's not... my home." Laughter in that house sprang into his memory, but so did the pinpricked pain of Abigail's teeth. The more distance he traveled from farm, the clearer a second set of images became. A white house on a tree lined street. The dark haired boy haunted every recollection of that place. Joe could almost put a name to him now. _Have to find him.. find out who he is... who I am..._

"The children need to play, Joseph." She shifted her grip to the base of his neck, the grasp not enough tight enough to strangle but still stealing his breath. "You are coming home."

Joe gasped as coughing suddenly consumed him, the choked splutters combining with her laughter and then weakening. Wet, gurgled wheezes replaced any pretense of breathing as his vision tinted into grey, weary acceptance setting in. _Too cold... can't run... cold..._

"Joe?"

 _What? What's that?..._

"That's it, love. Shhh. Go back to sleep... Shh.. Time to come home."

 _No... no..._ He gathered all his resistance into a single lurch, flinging the wraith off of him. "No. It's. Not."

He skidded down an embankment with the momentum of his escape, skeletal hands clutching at him as he rolled. Additional forms coalesced in his path, their childish fingers again snatching at his clothes, every touch spiking ice into his skin. He flung his arms and legs blindly, teeth gritted against the ensuing agony, fending off a rain of blows. Sharp teeth sank into his calf and shoulder, neither bite able to anchor him to his fate. _Please don't let them catch me... please no... please... no..._

His pell mell descent jarred to an abrupt stop as he tumbled into the water. The quintet retreated with an furious screech, Constance seemingly preventing the others from pursuing him into the creek. The hideous spirits surged around her, but the moment's hesitation permitted Joe to regain his feet. He sloshed through the knee deep stream, sensing the reluctance of the others to follow too closely. Fragments of the previously angelic faces flitted amid the trees, their dripping colorless hair limp over dead faces. Smaller stones pelted at Joe as he fled, the eerie chant again converging from every direction.

 _Come out come out, wherever you are..._

 _Joe-eeeeey..._

 _Ashes, ashes..._

 _Joe-eeeeeey..._

 _Come inside, Joseph..._

"Joe?"

 _The cock doth crow for you, Joe..._

 _Joe-eeeeey..._

"Joe?"

 _We all fall down..._

 _If you be wise, tis time to die..._

"Joe?"

The maelstrom of sound wove over and through him, a vertiginous cacophony pounding away coherent thought. The groaning pleas invaded his soul, leaching away his will. Joe tripped over the uneven streambed again, sinking prone below the tumult of the water, the numbing ice muting the insanity with blessed surrender.

 _So cold... got away... c-cold..._

"Joe?"

 _Go away... the others all went away... I'm tired..._

"JOE?"

 _Have to sleep... just for a while... I'm so c-cold... leave me alone..._

"JOE?"

 _Go away... have to sleep... I can't... I..._

 **"JOE!"**

 _Wait... Frank. His name is Frank..._ Joe shoved his elbows beneath him, forcing his head above the surface. "F-Frank?"

The night cascaded into jumbled scenes of the spinning car, the uncontrolled crash into the creek, the flight into the woods only find himself in the nightmare of the farmhouse. Joe crawled though the water, groping his way from stone to stone, following the beacon of his brother's calls.

"Frank? You there?"

"Joe! Where are you?"

"Here! I'm here!"

Frank waded into the edge of the water, convinced he heard Joe that way. A few more steps and he froze, the vision before him rendering movement impossible.

Joe knelt in the rushing water, a half translucent shadow. His shredded clothes flapped in rags over bloated grey skin that half heartedly clung to rotting muscle and jagged bone. Chunks of the familiar blonde waves were gone, the dull glow of white skull glinting through.

"No... No... J-Joe?" Frank stood transfixed by the animated corpse that so clearly bore his brother's face.

"Frank? Help me... " Joe braced his hands against his better knee, forcing his way to his feet. He could see a perfectly solid Frank silhouetted in front of the stone bridge pillar, not fifteen feet away, but his brother made no move toward him.

Frank crept backward a half stride, unaware. "J-Joe? You're... Oh, my God... J-Joe?" _He's a ... a... no..._

"Frank? Help?... I'm freezing... Frank!? Please?" Joe tottered a step forward, stunned when his sibling retreated. "Frank?"

The dangling bare bone of Joe's left hand dropped free, clattering against a boulder before bobbing downstream. Oblivious, the younger Hardy edged closer to his sibling.

When a mangled forearm followed suit, Frank whirled to retch, hot bile spattering the snow. Panting as he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Frank? Help?"

 _Don't look... He sounds like Joe... Don't look..._ He clamped down on a still rebellious stomach and waded back into the water. Frank opened his eyes and carefully looked everywhere else. The stone bridge stood a few feet behind him, backlit with the first glow of morning. A dark shadow on the bank mirrored the lattice work of the larger steel span, but the metal bridge itself remained hidden. Smudges moved along the opposite bank, indistinct and menacing.

The fragments gelled together like a particularly complex equation, the answer both welcome and repulsive.

"Joe, you have to go back." Frank gathered his resolve and stared into his brother's dull grey irises.

"No, need out of the water... I'm c-cold, Frank... tired..."

"I know, but you have to go back." Acid surged into his throat again as a rib pivoted, the swaying end brushing across Joe's hollowed stomach. "You have to cross the bridge, not come through the water. Go back."

"I'm closer to your... side now... just help me..."

"No." The word sliced through Frank. "Go. Back. You have to cross on your own, Joe. I'm sorry. Hurry, the sun's coming up."

Joe shook his head. "I won't get that far... they won't come... into the water..."

"They who? Please trust me on this. You have to go back, right now." _Please, it's almost dawn... there's no time to explain this..._

"Too cold... hurts..."

"Kiddo, please trust me. The bridge isn't going to last much longer."

"But..."

"Please, Joe." _Hurry... it's almost seven... hurry..._

"Ok." Sometimes the amount of faith in one word is amazing.

Joe dragged himself onto the opposite shore, tidbits of fabric and flesh trailing behind him. The instant he was free of the water, the wraiths descended, grabbing at him as he scrambled onto the bridge. Their whispers resumed, snippets of a dozen rhymes blending to a constant drone.

 _Ashes, ashes..._

 _Ashes, ashes..._

Only Constance pursued him across the cobblestone, her decayed appearance repugnant to Joe who was unaware he looked no better. As he reached the midpoint she abandoned snatching at him and coiled a desiccated arm around his throat.

His head snapped back, exposing his remaining jaw and ear to her vicious teeth.

"GAHHHHHHHHH!"

"NOOOOO!"

Frank's scream underscored Joe's. "Leave him alone! LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

 _Ashes, ashes..._

Joe slammed his elbow backward through her ribs, ripping himself free as she doubled over, the trophy of a an ear tip wedged in her teeth.

She spat that on the ground, withered claw of a hand coiling to land a punch in his kidneys before he spun about.

Frank ran onto the stone span, unable to resist aiding his brother any longer. "Joe! Coming!" The smooth surface cracked the moment his foot touched it, forcing him backward the soft earth to wait. _No, no, no, no. nonononoo..._

Joe wheeled, his raised foot snapping into contact with her breastbone and knocking Constance to the ground. He fell on top of her in a heap, unable to scamper away when her arms closed around him.

Frank paced in a tight square, the tumbling pair indistinguishable as they traded punches and kicks. Every inch of him quivered as he hit clenched fists against his thighs in a staccato rhythm. Joe... please... you have to make to across... come on... come on... come on...

The bridge sloped downward at the near end, Joe landing there in a sprawl, Constance astride, her bloody mouth sunk deep in his shoulder.

"NO! Get off him!" Frank was frantic, able to do nothing. "JOE! Please... you're almost across... you can do this... "

"C-can't ..."

 _Ashes, ashes..._

"JOE! You get yourself off this bridge! NOW!" _Come on... Come on... Come on..._

"I'll... try... " the grunted answer reflected the strain of holding the wraith off his throat and an undercurrent of pain that was almost a whimper.

"You can... promise me, Joe... Come on..."

Joe closed his eyes and flung both of them over the final foot of the side rail into the ice laden water. Completing the crossing wasn't going to do much good if the horror of the night was still literally clamped to him. Constance's squall silenced as she went under.

Her grey eyes stared up at him though the flowing quicksilver, a faint smile lighting her face as she transformed back into the young beauty that had first greeted him. The skin of her face smoothed, flawless porcelain touched with the shade of apricots. Her lips moved below the water, the soundless words easily read. "Help me, Joseph, don't let me drown. Help me."

Frank slid to the edge of the water, shoving his boot against her chest even as Joe held her down. "Go to hell."

The upper curve of the sun cleared the horizon just as she ceased moving, bones reappearing and crumbling into powder in a heartbeat, the fine dust carried away with the stream.

"Joe?" Frank choked back a sob, the daylight doing far too much to illuminate the state of his brother. Even Frank's nose screamed at him that this was a long dead corpse.

"Tired... don't think I can get home... this time... need to sleep..."

Sleep. The word triggered a final flurry of activity for the elder Hardy. "Sleeping before you're away from this creek is the one thing I won't help you do, Joe. Promise me, kiddo... no giving up now...

Frank grasped Joe's shoulders, gritting his teeth at the feel of blood and bone. Heaving backwards, he landed flat in the edge of the water, Joe pulled close into his chest. Not daring to stand again, he scampered backward, inching both of them onto solid ground. He collapsed into the snow, eyes closed in exhaustion, only aware of the faint movement of Joe's chest against his.

The sun was fully up before either of them stirred, Frank groggily sitting up and lowering Joe to the earth. Joe's flannel shirt and jeans were ripped and bloodied, his right ankle and left hand swollen double their usual size, teeth prints of distinctly different sizes marking his torso and neck. A diagonal bruise stretched over his left chest, trailing to his hip. No visible bone, no missing forearm, no torn ear. To Frank, he looked perfect.

The stone lions and the bridge they guarded were gone, only the steel span, a parked van and a twisted green sedan in sight.

Draping the emergency blanket over Joe, Frank extracted his cell phone from his vehicle, not surprised when the van failed to start. _Not like it was going to go that well..._

A police cruiser and ambulance responded to his call twenty minutes later. Frank winced as Sheriff Colin and Deputy Shuman emerged from the car.

"Mr. Hardy. I do not take kindly to being blindsided and locked in my own jail!"

The sheriff's yell roused Joe, his blue eyes flickering open with a moan. He raised a quizzical eyebrow at the orange sweatpants, but said nothing.

"Ah, no sir. I apologize for that. I had to get to Joe. I-"

"Are you suggesting it's ok to assault an officer if you've got a good excuse, boy?!"

"No, no sir." _I knew I was in trouble... and I'd do it again..._ "May I please just ride to the hospital with Joe? After that, I'll do anything you say, I told the deputy I'd plead guilty and I will, but please, let me go with him."

The sheriff glared at the dark haired youth before turning to stare at the younger one. "This your brother?"

"Yes sir." Frank's gaze followed Joe as he was loaded into the ambulance.

"He alright?"

"I think he will be."

"Hmph. You know, any report I file on you would have to cover why you were out here in the first place, and why three emergency vehicles couldn't find a crashed car that's sitting right there plain as day."

"Yes, sir, it would."

"Don't believe that would reflect well on my department. You go on, son, stay with your brother."

Frank managed a smile. "Yes sir, thank you."

"But I don't want to see you in Remsen again, kid!"

To be continued...


	7. Chapter 7

**EPILOGUE**

Author's note: Most of my stories don't go the supernatural or creepy route (at least in this fandom, anyway), but as I said at the start, this was written for a Halloween contest. I have a few other holiday HB stories, including Halloween ones, but other than this little epilogue, this tale is at its end. Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear from you. Thanks also to Evergreen Dreamweaver, Barb, ErinJordan, and angelicalkiss for the kind reviews on what may be the weirdest chapter I've ever written.

Since this is such a short little thing, I'm going to post the first chapter in the next story of this series in the next hour or so also. We'll still be on the wrong holiday, but hey, why not?

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Epilogue

Joe leaned his crutches against the bathroom sink, eager to get home. Three days in the hospital for what his doctor insisted on calling hypothermia and what Joe preferred to label the medical offspring college fund. Seriously, how hard could it be to get warm at home with his mother hovering with blankets and Aunt Gertrude plying him with beef stew?

Frank had reminded him that stew wasn't going to give him antibiotics for the forty stitches he had scattered over a half dozen sites or cover the three units of blood he'd received. Besides, neither of them had a car now and he would have been stuck in the house anyway. The van's engine had somehow managed to get filled with water. Creek water.

Shaking his head, Joe shrugged off the remnants of last night's nightmare and checked his watch. He still had fifteen minutes before his parents could sign him out. He had thought Frank would be here with his clothes, though.

 _Probably couldn't find any neon orange jailbird sweatpants. Wish I had a picture of that. Callie would love it._

He finished brushing his teeth, scooping everything out of the hospital medicine cabinet and into his bag. A trickle of icy water slithered between his shoulder blades. _Huh... thought I had my hair dry..._

Joe grabbed his comb and swiped the fog off the mirrored cabinet door to check. Everything clattered to the tile as his gaze met his reflection, pale blue lips fading into grey mottled skin that framed sightless, sunken eyes. His knees buckled and he crashed to the floor among the strewn junk, panting. _Not real. Not._

Frank found him twenty minutes later, sitting in the bathroom floor, knees pulled against his chest with both arms wrapped tightly around.

"Joe? You ok?"

"Ah, maybe? Do I... uh... look... um... ok?"

Frank knelt, realizing while that combination of words was almost always sarcastic, it wasn't this time. Nor was it vain. "You look pretty much like last night, Joe. A little battered and bruised, Velcro splint on your wrist, nothing a week or two won't fix."

"Good. That's good." Joe raised his head, extending his right hand. "Help me up?"

"Of course." Frank hoisted his sibling to his feet, trying not to jostle him in the small confines of the bathroom any more than he had to.

"Thanks. Let's go home."

Joe pulled on his clothes while Frank rapidly repacked his bag, both of them eager to leave the hospital behind. Preferably to never again speak of a frozen creek, child wraiths, and the bridge that wasn't there. Joe flipped the light switch off and stepped into the hall, the skittering feeling down his spine urging a hurried escape. It wasn't, unfortunately, fast enough to miss nearly inaudible whispers.

 _"Joeeeeeeeeeey..._

 _Ashes, ashes_

 _Yesterday upon the stair, I saw a man who wasn't there_

 _"Jooeeeeeeey..."_

 _He wasn't there again today, I wish I wish he'd go away..._

 _Ashes, ashes_

 _"Joeeeyyyyy..."_

 _Ashes, ashes_

 _We All Fall DOWN!_ _"_

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Whose woods these are I think I know.  
His house is in the village though;  
He will not see me stopping here  
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.  
But I have promises to keep,  
And miles to go before I sleep,  
And miles to go before I sleep

 _‑_ _Robert Frost_

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 _Finis_


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